Divided Loyalties
by BitterWyntir
Summary: Pre-Earth - Smokescreen’s past loyalties threaten the fate of the Special Ops team after the Combaticons are captured by the Autobots. Smokescreen/Swindle, Prowl/Onslaught
1. Prologue

**Divided Loyalties**

**Prologue**

by BitterEloquence and Wyntir Rose

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara, and are licensed to IDW and Dreamworks. Our original characters are our own and any similarity between them and any existing characters from canon or fandom is purely coincidental. We claim no ownership by writing this work._

Authors' Note: Thanks go out to Okami_Myrhibis for betaing this fic for us.

* * *

They had been going over things for breems now and tempers were beginning to fray. Prowl liked to think himself a pretty calm and even-tempered mech but even he was beginning to get annoyed with Red Alert's constant ranting about how having an enemy gestalt like the Combaticons down in their brig was a Very Bad Idea and that it would be the Death of Them All.

"Red Alert, I understand your concerns but you must realize that it would be far more risky to try and transport them to a more secured location. Now that Megatron realizes we have the Combaticons in our custody, he's going to redouble his efforts to take them back." The tactician tried to explain logically and calmly to the security officer.

Red Alert huffed angrily and leaned against the table. "And that is _exactly_ why we need to get rid of them! If you won't agree to move them then they need to be disabled or executed outright!"

At the other side of the table Smokescreen tensed slightly but said nothing.

"We might be able to get some valuable information out of them. Before they defected, Onslaught was one of Megatron's highest ranking tacticians; he's probably got their battleplans for the last ten vorns in his processor not to mention any ops they might be running right now. They're too valuable to just execute out of hand. Besides, that's not up to us. We'll wait until word comes down from high command about what to do with them."

"And in the meantime they are putting this base and all of our staff at risk! It is an unacceptable danger no matter what kind of information Onslaught can provide. _And_ if he is the one with the intel, then there is absolutely no reason to keep the others here!" Red Alert argued, slamming one hand down on the desk. "With all due respect to your station, you do _not_ know how dangerous this position is!"

Prowl's doors hitched up fractionally, the only indication or reaction he gave to Red Alert's tantrum when he slammed his fist down on the desk. "Then instead of tying all of us up here in a meeting that is going nowhere, perhaps we should be trying to find a way to most quickly and efficiently process the Combaticons and get them out of the base like you wish. Find me a safe route through the Decepticon territory and a way of getting them to Iacon without risk of them falling back into Megatron's hands."

He gestured to the map laid out between them. "Because as things stand right now, Red Alert, I do not see one. We're all but surrounded here and cannot afford to take all our forces off trying to hold back Shockwave's forces coming in from Polyhex to escort them personally off our base." Prowl broke off when someone knocked sharply on the door.

Red Alert glared at Prowl then at the map before leaning over and examining it carefully. "We could go ... Fine, so we can't get them out of here, but why do we need all of them? I will concede that Onslaught has valuable intel, but Vortex and Brawl are psychopaths, Blast Off is a useless glitch, and trying to deal with Swindle would be beyond useless! The piece of smelter scum will try to sell us our own creators before telling us anything useful!" he railed, completely ignoring the dark look Smokescreen was shooting him and the knock at the door.

"If we execute his subordinates, how helpful do you think Onslaught will be?" A hint of ice entered Prowl's voice now. But then the knock came again, louder and more insistent. "Enter," he ordered with a frown.

"Prowl. We got a major problem." Jazz didn't even wait for the door to fully open before he barreled his way in.

"What is it, Jazz?"

"Just got word in, the 'cons snagged all our agents in some kinda sting operation."

"Any idea where they're being held? I can see about organizing a rescue effort," Smokescreen asked, speaking for the first time.

Jazz's lip components thinned. "They're being taken to Shockwave's stronghold for 'questioning' last I heard." The Spec Ops officer's optic band was dim.

"You said all of them were taken?" A hint of incredulous suspicion filled Prowl's voice.

"Yes, sir. Gots ta be some kinda inside job. We were sold out by someone."

Smokescreen nodded. "There's no way they could have gotten the jump on all your cells without some kind of inside intel. And if they're in Darkmount it might be impossible to get them out without a major offensive."

Red Alert shook his head angrily. "We don't have the personnel for that. It would leave our bases dangerously understaffed, and I'm sorry Jazz, but it's not a risk we can take. Your teams knew the risk when they got involved with this. I hate to say it, but we should cut our losses now."

An angry look crossed Jazz's face briefly before he could school his features into a more passive mask. "What about the 'batties?"

"....what about them?" Prowl asked slowly.

"Megs would give a lot to get 'em back. Maybe he'd even be willing to trade my men for the Combaticons."

"No!" both Smokescreen and Red Alert exclaimed at the same time.

"That's completely inadvisable! You cannot let Megatron get his hands back on that gestalt! Your spies are **not** worth it!"

"Not worth it!?" The saboteur demanded hotly, starting forward menacingly.

"Shut up, Red!" Smokescreen snapped. "Jazz, I hate to say it but Red's halfway right. I know that we _need_ to get your mechs back, but the Combaticons are too dangerous in Megatron's hands. But maybe we can pump them for information?"

"Jazz!" Prowl snapped. "Everyone needs to calm down." Looking at the gathered mechs soberly, "Smokescreen is right, we need to try and pump them for information. The threat of trading them back to the Decepticons is leverage we can use."

Red Alert stood his ground but said nothing to the saboteur. Instead he turned toward Prowl. "That would be a mistake, Prowl, and you know it. The Combaticons will not provide up with any-"

"Shut up, Red! I'm serious!" Smokescreen interrupted. "Look, Prowl, we can question them, but we're more likely to get something from them by promising to ship them off world. They won't react well to threats."

Prowl looked at the other tactician searchingly for a moment. "You know them more than us, Smokescreen."

"Prowl...these are my men we're talkin' 'bout," Jazz argued.

"I understand that, Jazz but Red Alert is right, they knew the risks-"

"But, Prowl-" Jazz tried to interrupt.

"-but we can't risk letting them fall into Decepticon hands either. Special Ops agents are privy to intel we don't want Megatron or Shockwave attaining either. So we find ourselves in a bit of a difficult situation."

"Okay, so I suggest that you present an offer to Onslaught. Tell him that you'll let his team go if they provide you with information," Smokescreen said. "You might be able to get some of the others to turn on their own but you'll need to word the proposition right."

"Very well, I'll present an offer to Onslaught. As for the others...." Prowl trailed off then, battle computer coming up with a breakdown of the situation and who would be best suited for dealing with the Combaticons. "Here's what we're going to do...."


	2. Chapter 1

**Divided Loyalties**

**Chapter 1**

by BitterEloquence and Wyntir Rose

_**Disclaimer:**__ Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara, and are licensed to IDW and Dreamworks. Our original characters are our own and any similarity between them and any existing characters from canon or fandom is purely coincidental. We claim no ownership by writing this work._

Authors' Note: Thanks go out to Okami_Myrhibis for betaing this fic for us.

* * *

Kup stood outside the door of the interrogation room, preparing mentally for the upcoming interview. It wouldn't be easy; not by any stretch of the imagination, but he wouldn't have changed his assignment for all the energon in Iacon. The moment he had learned of the capture of the Combaticons, he knew that he had to be in on the interrogations; and there was one Combaticon in particular who he knew he had to question. The unit was a vicious, psychotic lot of sociopaths and violent psychopaths but Vortex was the most twisted out of the bunch. Pit-spawned demons like him were rare nowadays, and that was why Kup knew that _he_ had to be the one to do the questioning. The sparklings who made up the Autobot Security force were in no way equipped to handle a sparkless monster like Vortex.

Steeling himself, Kup entered the interrogation cell and locked the door behind him. As he did, bored, and flat optics that were devoid of emotion or even interest turned to face him. It was as if Vortex was staring right through him like he wasn't even there. Ignoring the gaze, or lack thereof, Kup casually walked up to the table in the center of the room and examined the Decepticon chained behind it. Vortex was slouched in the chair, looking bored out of his processor. He really wasn't much to look at; there was just no way to tell that this lithely built flier took such sadistic glee and pleasure in tearing his fellow Cybertronians apart without remorse or pity.

Remembering that Vortex _was_ quick, deadly, and cunning, Kup crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the Decepticon.

"Hello, Vortex. I think it's time we had a little chat. You need to answer a few questions before we move on."

After a long time of staring at the far wall, Vortex finally shifted, rotors spinning lazily as he stretched like a primitive and feigned a yawn. "They sent _you_? How insulting. Surely you should realize by now that I'm not going to talk and that answers don't come cheap."

Kup slid into a chair opposite the flyer, ensuring that he wasn't in reach of either Vortex's hands or rotors. He watched the display of nonchalance with careful amusement. The Decepticon was going to be a hard one to crack. Sly games and subtle hints wouldn't work on him. No, the direct approach was always best when dealing with the dangerously insane - still, that didn't mean that he couldn't poke at that over-inflated ego a little bit.

"Yes, they sent me. Apparently, you don't warrant anything better than a mere grunt. Not surprising really, all things considered," Kup replied, sounding bored. "And we wouldn't dream of asking for any information free of charge. The deal is this. You tell us what you know of Decepticon activities and we don't turn you and your cronies over to Megatron for punishment. Assuming of course that we like what we hear."

Vortex watched him with open amusement for a moment before looking down at his hands. He picked at a few flecks of dried energon still sticking to his hands. "You're going to have to do better than that, Autobot. I know who you are and you're a bit more than a grunt. I'm just disappointed that they didn't send me a professional. I hate dealing with dilettantes. "

He knew better than to rise to the bait. True he was much more than a mere grunt, but he wasn't some rookie Towers brat either. "I ain't no dilettante, boy. And you may know me, but I know you just as well. You're just a little wannabe killer, thinking that he's being creative and artistic, when really, you're just a pale shadow of the masters. Nothing but a Scrapper wannabe."

The Combaticon snorted scornfully and flicked a few flakes across the table at Kup. "Please, I have no interest in turning another Cybertronian into a living sculpture. If that's your idea of 'art' then so be it. Personally, I much prefer...making music." He laughed quietly at his own joke, a cold and sinister light shining in his optics as his rotors spun lazily.

"You interrupted my fun, you know. I love it when they get to the part where you can hear the madness and pain mingling amongst the static. Music to my audios." He shivered delicately as if savoring an especially fine brew of high grade. "But they were so sweet. You know, I love family units; they're always a personal favorite. Especially when they have a sparkling with them. There are so many...opportunities when you have wide selection to choose from. And of course, there has to be some spice, some variety otherwise it gets boring."

Kup's hands clenched for a moment and his optics hardened at the casual mention of the family Vortex had butchered, but he quickly regained his control and allowed the Combaticon to continue his monologue.

Vortex leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling with a happy little smile. "I remember that furlough they gave us a few vorns ago. Oh, what was that little city called? They all kind of run together after a time." Tsking to himself, Vortex pretended to rummage through his memory banks. "Oh who cares, it was just _full_ of delicious little Autobot troops. Must have been some kind of training camp. Heheheh, I certainly gave them a nice workout before we executed them."

"Call it what you like, Vortex," Kup said finally, tightly controlled anger still smoldering in his optics. "No matter what title you put to it, everyone knows that you're just a nut job with a scalpel and that's all you'll ever be. After all, if you had anything resembling skill you wouldn't be going after sparklings. You'd actually focus on prey that offered a challenge."

Vortex smirked when he saw the flash of anger. "But that time it wasn't sparklings. Well ... not that half-trained Autoboscum really presented much of a challenge so they were about as vulnerable as sparklings." He shot Kup a chastising look. "You really should see about training them better. If you Autobots were more of a challenge, I wouldn't get bored and have to go pick on Neutrals and their adorable little offspring."

Kup leaned forward in his chair and placed one hand on the table that separated him from Vortex.

"Again, little challenge. But Decepticons; now they would be - assuming that you actually want one. We might just be convinced to look the other way in regards to your activities if you focused on more dangerous prey. And made it worth our while, that is."

The sadistic mech tilted his head to the side as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Say, aren't you one of the mechs in charge of training new recruits? If you want, I'll give you some pointers on how to _really_ train your cute little sparklings on how to withstand capture and torture. And please, why would I torture members of my own faction? That hardly makes sense."

He was determined to remain cool and collected, but the truth was, Vortex was beginning to get to him. He had been so sure that he could handle this sociopath; that he was just like every other maniac out there. But the fact of the matter was that Vortex was far cooler than he would have thought. It was time to put more emphasis on the interrogator's future rather than the past.

Vortex was an expert at reading mechs and he knew he was beginning to get to Kup. The problem was, he _liked_ getting under other mech's plating and Kup had unwittingly turned this into a game now.

"I think I hit a nerve," he purred. "Feeling the weight of your failure as a teacher? It must be frustrating to know you're sending all those fresh new-builds out to be slaughtered by the likes of me and my team. Heh, when Brawl and I get really bored, we like to tie them to his chassis then I'll fly upwards and we'll pull at the mechs until they snap. Whoever gets the larger piece wins."

Kup's gun hand twitched ever so slightly as Vortex described the deaths of his troops in such graphic detail, but he continued to control himself.

"Tell me something Vortex, are you really this obtuse or are you being dense on purpose? _You_ don't have a faction anymore. Megatron's sold you out. There's a bounty on your head so large it could buy Iacon. Every hunter on the planet is looking for you and we Autobots are the only things standing between you and them. And from where I'm sitting, you're not giving us much incentive to keep you lot safe."

At mention of the bounty and so-called Autobot clemency, Vortex laughed outright. "Please, you're not offering us anything. The moment we tell you what you want to know, you'll put us down like the mad turbo wolves you think we are. Not that anyone would want to be Autoscum to begin with. You're going to lose the war and we're going to munch on your sparks with our morning energon."

"Yeah, Vortex, you're right," Kup said, not bothering to hide the disdain and disgust from his voice now. "If it were up to me I would put you down. Pit! I wouldn't even be offering you this much of a deal. You never would have seen the outside of that warehouse if I'd had my druthers." He then sat back in the chair and was once again calmly aloof. "But this new Prime has ideas when it comes to pit-spawn like you and your team. He believes that there's a place for you bolt-sucking, diode-cracking glitches in the future of our society. And while I would dearly love to put you down right now, I have a job to do. The Prime wants me to present our offer. So it's presented. You take it, you live. Either with us as Autobots or off world as Neutrals. Either way, Megatron doesn't get his claws into you. Turn it down and I will happily hand you over to the Unmaker myself. I may be an Autobot but that doesn't mean I don't have uses for that bounty."

Vortex grinned, a mad little grin. "Ohhhh you'll let me play with Autobots? How quaint. Ahhh ... too bad I'm not allowed to make decisions like that. I'd just _love_ to play with you too. For a second-gen, I'll bet you have all sorts of fun tricks. Too bad you're probably too old and rusted to hold your own against a real mech. Which is probably why you're in charge of training the cannon fodder...oh wait, I mean the green troops." He leaned forward and looked at Kup almost conspiratorially. "Unless the rumors are true of course. I've heard you like 'em young. Aren't they so much easier to _mold_ and shape to your vision that way?"

Up until this point, Kup had been irritated. More than irritated in fact. He had been ready to take the Decepticon out right then regardless of the Special Ops orders to keep him alive. But that last crack about his age and the implication of his tastes ... Kup's mouth twisted and compressed then, suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed out loud.

"Ah, now sparkling, you're just grasping at straws. And here I thought you might actually be a challenge to me. But I suppose not. Maybe in a few dozen vorns when you get some experience under your plating ... oh, wait, you probably won't live that long. I guess you'd better hope that whichever one of you lot who _can_ make decisions makes the right one."

Vortex gave the old Autobot a coy look. "Why, Kup, does that mean I _might_ interest you after all? From the sounds of it, I might be young and impressionable enough for your tastes. Come on, don't you want to show me the wonders and advantages of the Autobot lifestyle? Maybe mentor me and show me the errors of my way?" He chuckled softly. "I've heard you _love_ teaching young mechs all your secret tricks. Didn't you take the new Prime under your wing? I'll be he's made you oh so proud too."

Kup leaned forward in his chair again and smiled slightly. "Yeah, if you were to switch sides I guess it would fall to me to train you in all the proper ways of doing things. I suppose I could even start now if you'd like." He moved to stand then sat back down again with a look on his face as if he had just remembered something important. "Oh wait, that wouldn't work. After all, you're all alone in here and, well everybody knows that you can't manage a thing without Brawl holding your hand."

The Combaticon''s optics brightened with interest when Kup moved to sit up. For a moment, he almost thought the Autobot would be foolish enough to get within reach but then he teased him by sitting down again.

"Oh, don't worry, I don't need Brawl to hold my hand. I can play by myself though I'm always on the lookout for new playmates. Won't you play with me, Kup?" he purred, ann evil gleam lighting his optics. "Or am I too much for you? Poor old mech, they really didn't prep you very well for this."

He snickered nastily and leaned back in his chair, rotors spinning lazily once again. "You tell whoever is monitoring this that the next time they want to try and outmatch me with wits or crawl into my processors, they shouldn't come unarmed to the battle. You're boring me, you can leave now. Tell them to send someone more interesting next time." He feigned another yawn.

Kup sat crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Vortex smugly.

"You're right. I am no match for you. But as I said at the beginning of this little interview, you didn't warrant anyone better." He cocked his head to the side as if receiving an internal comm on an antiquated system. When he looked back up at Vortex his grin was even more smug than before. "And considering that I'm really just a messenger in all this, it's not my job to get into your head. I'm only here to keep you busy and talking just long enough for someone else to figure out how you tick. And apparently, you've just spilled an awful lot of data."

"Of course! You're right! I'm just a poor misunderstood sparkling looking for someone to love me!" Vortex gushed dramatically. "Or maybe I just need a sparkling to love. Preferably one who's bleeding and crying out for mercy as I slowly strip away ever hint of metal from their chassis until the endoskeleton is bared and twitching beneath my hands. Mnn....so sweet." Another dreamy look took hold in Vortex's optics.

Kup's look hardened slightly but he schooled his features quickly. "That's it. Keep trying. There's really nothing you can say that'll bother me enough to make me take a swipe at you, if that's what you're after. Worse mechs than you have tried, believe me. And while you're busy trying to bother me our people have taken what they need and have moved on to more interesting vistas."

"Oh boy, does this mean they'll actually give me someone interesting to play with after this?" Vortex taunted in a bored tone of voice. "Goodie, I was getting kind of bored anyway-"

Before his insulting could continue, a feral scream and a resounding crash splintered the air from the room next door. Metal screeched against metal as a deep bass voice rose in a torrent of nearly incoherent screams and curses.

"Hmph, at least **someone** is having fun."

* * *

Brawl glared at the red Autobot from his place behind the overturned and smashed table before straining at his restraints again. He roared in anger as he pulled at the bonds that kept him chained in place. Already the two holding him to the floor had been shattered when he succeeded in throwing the heavy metal table at Ironhide, and now one of the chains binding him to the wall was starting to give way.

"_**LET! ME! GO!**_" he roared as he strained forward, hands grasping for the Autobot's throat.

"Aw, quit yer yapping." Ironhide grumbled, un-slinging the rifle he'd carried into the room. He made sure it was on one of its lower settings before shooting the raging Combaticon. "Yer makin' mah processors ache with all that carrying on."

Brawl staggered back as the stun beam hit him. For a moment, his optics flickered slightly, but they cleared as he shook his head.

With another roar of anger, he lunged at Ironhide, straining and pulling at his bonds. The chains began to crack and spark under the continued strain, threatening to give way at any moment.

"_**GET OVER HERE!**_"

"Ah'll say this fer ya. Yer one stubborn spawnuvaglitch." Ironhide just upped the voltage a bit and shot him again.

This time Brawl actually stumbled as the shot hit home. Electricity danced over his armor causing him to twitch slightly. His fans kicked in, cooling his overheated systems and he huffed angrily. One massive hand wrapped around one of the chains keeping him to the wall and he yanked at it with all of his strength. Finally it came loose in his hands, and with a feral grin and a howling roar, he launched himself once more at the Autobot.

Ironhide liked to think he was a rather brave and unmovable mech but watching the sheer destructive power and _hateful_ will for destruction coming from this enraged mech was enough to unnerve even him.

Then, Brawl broke free. "Aw, frag," He didn't even bother trying to stun the other mech, he just opened fire and backed towards the door.

_'Hide, why don't you get outta there 'till he calms down a bit, it's obvious he ain't gonna be cooperating anytime soon,'_ Jazz's calm voice said over the comm.

_'Frag that! Ah can handle one slagged-off idiot just fine, Jazz!'_ the red mech snapped back, obviously offended at the suggestion.

Brawl strained against the last bond, nearly pulling his arm out of it's joint in a desperate bid to grab Ironhide. He grunted and screamed at each shot that hit him, but he was being carried by raw programming now and nothing was going to keep him from his target. But while the programming and the spark were willing, the body was not, and the enraged Combaticon was starting to falter under the barrage.

_'I ain't playin' 'Hide you need to get yer aft outta there now,'_ Jazz shot back, all pretense of calm left behind as the situation continued to devolve.

Ironhide growled and fired a volley of liquid nitrogen at the raging Combaticon in an attempt to slow him down.

_'Ah'm headin' to the door now. We can't jus' let 'em run wild in the room. He's gonna break out eventually so we might as well cut him off now.'_

Brawl stumbled back as the liquid nitrogen hit. He screamed out a half-intelligible curse as he fell to one knee, his optics flickering as his body started to finally give out under the constant strikes.

"Will you please shut up already?! We don't need to hear it anymore, Brawl!" an irritated tenor yelled from the next room.

* * *

Up in the observation booth, Jazz had been lounging with his feet propped up on the terminals as he watched the various monitors intently.

"Aw, spawn of a-," the saboteur cursed, sitting upright in his chair suddenly when he watched Brawl break free and lunge for Ironhide.

"I told you this was a bad idea," Red Alert muttered as he rapidly assessed the situation from his station. "Order him out of there so I can put that psychopath down!"

The security chief brought the emergency systems online preparing to fill the room with enough electricity to short out everything inside of it.

On the other side of the room, Smokescreen took in all the screens, carefully assessing the situation, studiously avoiding the last one and the room holding a stumpy tan mech. At Red Alert's order, however, he wrenched his optics away from the visuals and glared at the security director.

"Red, are you out of your processor? Hold off on that! You don't know what kind of a dose it'll take to put him down! You might kill him and we need all five of them alive! Tell him, Jazz!"

"Whoa now, jus' chill out mechs." Jazz tried to calm them both with hands held out at his sides in a non-threatening manner as he communicated with Ironhide through his internal comm..

"Chill out? Are you completely failing to grasp the severity of the situation?" Red Alert asked incredulously. "If Brawl escapes that last bond and gets out of the room there's no guarantee that we'll be able to stop him before he threatens the security of this outpost. Now order Ironhide out of there or I'll have to take him down along with the Decepticon."

Smokescreen stepped forward and glared at Red Alert, door wing flared out angrily. "_You're_ the one who has completely lost it, Red! You can't activate the grid with Ironhide still in there! 'Hide can handle this, you just have to give him a breem to-"

Red Alert cut Smokescreen off with an impatient shake of his head. "We don't have the luxury of a breem. Jazz I'm activating the grid in 30 klicks. With or without Ironhide out of there."

"The frag you will, Red! I'm still in charge o' this operation and I ain't lettin' you fry an Autobot. Just pipe down and sit yer aft down in that chair." It was rare for the cheerful, affable mask Jazz always wore to slip but in that moment, the security mech was faced with the cold-sparked leader of Spec Ops, not the friendly mech who brought him energon when he was too tired to get up and walk to the dispenser.

Red Alert glared at Jazz, resentment burning in his optics, but he did move away from the console.

"I am _officially_ registering my disapproval of this, Jazz. I will _not_ be held responsible when that maniac escapes."

"Duly noted," Jazz muttered grimly, letting go a weary cycle of air when he saw Brawl finally start to go down. "There, crisis averted. Told ya 'Hide could handle 'em."

* * *

Stuck in the room with Blast Off, Mirage frowned when the shuttle shouted abruptly. "Must you raise your voice as well?" The former aristocrat muttered, crossing his arms over his chest with a disapproving look.

Blast Off huffed imperiously as Brawl's tantrum finally ended. With a final glare at the wall, he sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and went back to staring at a spot on the wall just to the left of Mirage's shoulder. He was fully willing to wait until they provided him with an interrogator worthy of his position rather than the Towers Brat they'd sent.

Mirage glowered right back at him before contacting Jazz audibly over the comms. "Jazz, do I **really** have to be here? This slagger is a complete waste of my time. Why didn't you give me someone **important** to interview, huh?"

Up in the command center, Jazz snorted to himself, instantly catching onto Mirage's game.

_Sorry, 'Raj, we're fresh out of 'fun and interesting'. Unless you wanna go play with Brawl?_

Back in the room Blast Off smirked at the communication.

"Oh now that _would_ be interesting. I imagine it would take Brawl all of a breem to rip your spark out and eat it. That is, if he didn't let Vortex play with you first. I will admit, it would be very nice to see you put in your place, Brat. Right next to the rest of the Tower corpses." He never looked at Mirage as he spoke.

"Oh please, like a rag-tag useless bunch of slotheads like could even touch me." Mirage finally looked at Blast Off and smirked. "Who do you think is the one who tracked Vortex back to your hideout? For the supposed elite of the Decepticon battle forces you lot sure were...disappointing. I was hoping for at least some challenge, instead it was like tracking a limping and dying turbo-rat back to their den."

"Oh yes, sparkling. Keep telling yourself that you did it all by your lonesome with no help from that commander of yours. ... Oh yes, we've heard all about how _you_ bought your way into the head fool's service. Not surprising really. The Towers Wastes were never good at anything really. If you were, you wouldn't have tried to buy your safety as you did," Blast Off said in a cool, almost off-hand tone, finally looking Mirage over as if he was examining a piece of waste on the bottom of his foot.

Mirage smirked again. "Aw, does it offend you to think that one spoiled Towers Brat was the one who landed you and your team in this sleezehole? Must be insulting and a little demeaning. If I were in your place, I think I'd just pull out my energon lines rather than deal with the disgrace of being held by 'weak' Autobots. Heh, you spent how long avoiding Megatron's best assassins to be brought in by a Towers mech."

"Yes, well, you aren't me, now are you? But I do have to grant you one thing. If I were you, then yes, I probably would pull my energon lines out. Better that I suppose than live with that ridiculously petite frame. ... Out of curiosity, is the problem that your creator couldn't settle on a gender for you?" Blast Off asked in a bored tone.

He turned away from Blast off and chuckled nastily. "You know, you seem to have some experience with the Towers. Actually you look a little familiar. Didn't you used to work as a garbage carrier? With your bulky alt mode it was probably all you were good for before the war. Of course, you fit in so well here in this squalor that it's kind of hard to tell the difference between one flying model and another." The smirking noblemech shrugged carelessly as he turned back to meet Blast Off's visor and shook his head as if he found the Decepticon pitiful. "Poor thing, being so inundated with the slag that you can't tell true Towers quality. Of course, I guess with your bulky and unsightly frame you can't help but be envious of me. It's okay, I'm used to Commoners envying me and wanting me."

"Ah, yes, 'quality'," Blast Off said slowly, as if tasting the word and finding it to be rotten. "That always is the defense of those blinded by their own thin veneer, isn't it? I have to wonder, do scraplets consider themselves to be of a higher quality than cosmic rust? I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. After all, you can polish it up, make it pretty, and teach it all the manners you like, but trash will always remain trash.

"Hmnn," Mirage looked him up and down critically. "You've certainly tried to pretty yourself up but in the end, you're still shoddy second-hand materials so I guess you would know more about that then I."

* * *

Up in the command center Smokescreen made no attempt to bite back a chuckle as he came to stand behind Jazz.

"That kid has got to learn to curb the superiority complex before someone hands him his head," he said softly. "I'm still not seeing what you see in him, Jazz."

Jazz shot Smokescreen an amused smirk as he watched his protégé work the room. "Trust me, he's a complete slagger but he knows how to get under a mech's plating faster than anyone I've ever mech. Even you. Mech's a natural at reading."

Smokescreen examined the screen and the Towers mech carefully.

"Hmm ... might be good to test. I can't say that I'd mind having that mech under my plating ...," he said with a crooked, and somewhat predatory, grin.

At the back of the room, Red Alert shook his head in disgust but said nothing.

Jazz raised an optic ridge and slanted a look at Smokescreen. "Far be it for me to tell you where you drink your energon but I think you're setting yerself up fer failure. 'Raj makes outer space seem warm. All that cold, Towers programming I s'pose."

"Hey, you know me. Always up for a challenge," Smokescreen replied, flashing a brilliant smile at Jazz's look.

"Heh, should be fun to watch I suppose." He smirked at Smokescreen, visor flashing slightly. "'Course, you end up hurting my agent and you and I are gonna have words, Smokey."

Smokescreen's demeanour sobered slightly but his smile remained firmly in place as he continued to banter lightly with the chief of Special Ops.

"Oh come now, Jazzy, you know me better than that. I never leave them hurt."

Jazz continued to smile as well though there was a pronounced sharpness to that expression. "Right, just a fair warnin' is all."

Smokescreen caught the look and his smile softened to a more apologetic one.

"Hey Jazz, you want me to back off, I will. I've never been one to step on another mech's feet after all." He looked back at the screen and vented his fans softly. "It's obvious that we're not going to get anything out of Blast Off though. As good as your boy is, I don't think he's gonna make a dent in that arrogance."

"It ain't like that, Smokey. 'Raj is just my agent. But I don' like ta see any of my agents have to deal with drama outside of the job," Jazz said carefully

Smokescreen nodded and moved to the next screen. "What about Prowl? You think he'll make any headway with Onslaught?"

At the back of the room Red Alert huffed softly.

"May I remind you that I told you this was a bad idea? Placing Prowl in a room with Onslaught is foolish and risky. We should not put our Lead Tactician at risk in this fruitless endeavor! As good as Prowl is, Onslaught is a cold, hard killer and he will not hesitate to take out an officer if given the opportunity!"

"I...don't think that'll be a problem," Jazz snorted as he glanced at the monitor showing Onslaught and Prowl sitting across the table from one another. A tactical game was set up between them as the two mechs talked civilly and matched wits with one another.


	3. Chapter 2

Onslaught examined the game board over steepled fingers before carefully reaching over and picking up a heavy artillery unit and moving it forward two sectors. As he put it down, his chains knocked over three of Prowl's light infantry units.

"I apologize for that," he said in an even tone as he put the infantry back where they had been. "I do appreciate the civil way in which you are meeting me and this mental distraction, but these chains do make the game a bit of a challenge unfortunately."

He continued to examine the board before moving a unit of engineers back one sector, converting a second unit into a team of sappers, and bringing a trine of Seekers to the field.

"I have completed my move Prowl. The field is yours."

Prowl waved it off. "No, no need to apologize. I'm sorry about the restraints but regulations are regulations after all," the tactician murmured absently, optics trained on the board.

He moved to capture one of Onslaught's artillery banks and fortified the possible flight paths of his Seeker trine with more anti-aircraft pieces.

"Just because you're being held here doesn't mean you have to be mistreated. So long as you and your team behave yourselves, there is no reason to lower ourselves to brute force and coercion."

Onslaught examined the field carefully before moving his Seekers forward to take a communications station. While the move gained a halfway important sector, it put them in the direct line of Prowl's anti-aircraft pieces. He sat back and cocked his head to the side, listening to the sounds around him for a moment before moving his attention back to the board.

"Unfortunately it sounds to me that at least one member of my team is not behaving himself. However I have no doubt that you were expecting that reaction."

He paused as he examined the board once more.

"I believe that is the end of my moves for this round. I would deploy my tunnelers at the other end of the field, but I don't see the point in knocking everything over to get there." He lifted his cuffed hands apologetically.

"Here, allow me." Solicitously, one white hand moved the indicated pieces. "Right here?" Prowl asked curiously before cocking his head to the side to listen as well. "It was to be expected I suppose. So long as he doesn't escape, it should be okay. I'd really hate to have him gunned down. If you can talk some reason into him, it would be appreciated."

"Yes, that location is fine, thank you. And that will be the end of my move. The field is yours," Onslaught replied with nod. "As for Brawl, I would gladly speak with him if you would be willing to provide me with a commlink or remove the damper from my own systems."

Prowl considered for a moment before standing and walking over to Onslaught's side of the table, he was careful when he approached but he did provide a comm link for the Comabticon leader to use.

"Here you go; it's keyed for Brawl's cell."

Onslaught watched as Prowl moved to within grabbing range. It was an interesting show of trust and quite the gambit on the Autobot's part. Onslaught had to admit to himself that there was something fascinating about this sparkling, and he intended to keep a close optic on him in future.

"Thank you," he said before activating the comm link.

"Brawl, sit down and shut up. That is an order. Am I making myself clear?"

'**_FRAG OFF!!!!_**' came the not so subtle reply.

"Brawl, considering that we will eventually be out of here, do you really want to take issue with my orders? Do you really want me to remind you of what happened last time?"

_' ... no ... Fine ... But I get to gut the red one when we leave,'_ came the sullen reply.

He turned off the comm link and handed it back to Prowl. "That should solve the problem for the moment."

The tactician sat back and listened as Onslaught handled Brawl's insubordination in a manner that was both subtle and menacing. The Autobot in him was sufficiently disapproving and wary of the way he'd handled the situation. Another part of Prowl stirred at the silky way he spoke and the tactician immediately shoved that uncomfortable tangle of emotion deep down inside his spark. Something about the mech reminded him of someone and this was neither the time nor place for old distractions.

"You're welcome." Prowl murmured civilly as he accepted the comm link back. "It should make concentrating a bit easier if nothing else."

"Of course," Onslaught replied, equally civilly. "And it will give us the opportunity to discuss your offer a bit more in depth."

As he spoke, he continued to examine the board, planning all of his possible moves, both in the game on the board and the one they were playing in real life. The general reactions and attitude Prowl had shown so far confirmed Onslaught's original impressions of the Autobot; he was not one to underestimated or dismissed. Nevertheless, he had chinks in his armor and Onslaught had no problem with exploiting those weaknesses.

"I will admit that I am intrigued by the idea, though I cannot, in all good conscience, accept your offer of clemency without hearing all the facts. So tell me Prowl," he said in the same silky, almost purring voice, "what is it that you truly want of us?"

"Of course," Prowl agreed as he moved to settle back down in his seat across from Onslaught. The tactician's doors arched out at a slightly higher angle from before as he carefully made himself more comfortable in the chair before moving his pieces. Prowl took down two-thirds of Onslaught's Seeker trine while moving his infantry in to occupy Onslaught's main supply sector.

"Your turn, Onslaught." Settling back slightly, the smaller mech eyed the Decepticon with quietly accessing optics. "While you being on the run does keep you out of Megatron's plans for now, it is in our best interest to keep you from going back under his control ever again. You and I both know that with the bounty Megatron has on you his plans are to summarily execute you all."

"Logically, you can't go back to the Decepticons, the Neutrals will never have you so your best options are either accept out clemency or somehow make it off Cybertron. Considering the Autobots and Decepticons are the only ones with space ships large enough to transport your entire team off-planet that does leave you at a keen disadvantage. That being said, I think the better question would be, what can you offer us, Onslaught?"

Onslaught nodded as Prowl made the logical move and took out his Seekers before cutting off his supply line.

"Could you please move my sappers forward two sectors and my tunnellers over four. I will be taking your secondary command hub with shaped charges under the main battlements."

That move would take out a portion of Prowl's command element and would enable Onslaught to take over some of his supply lines.

"While it is true that you need to keep us out of the game, I am afraid that you are underestimating Lord Megatron. He is not going to execute us for our crimes. We are far too valuable to him as an example," Onslaugt replied as he renegotiated some key supply routes. "Your move, Prowl. And as for what we have to offer you, I am sorry to say we can offer nothing. You Autobots were always of the mistaken impression that we Decepticons are opportunistic mercenaries who are only fighting for the highest bidder. That is not the case. This war is not about control or power. It is about right and wrong. We Decepticons are right and you Autobots are wrong. To switch sides and fight for a cause I do not believe in would not only be illogical, but dishonorable as well."

Prowl nodded and moved the pieces as indicated and removed his deactivated units from the field. Once that was done, the tactician swooped in with his own heavily armored close combat unit and took out the tunnelers , thus giving him access to the tunnels leading back behind Onslaught's lines.

"How do you think the Decepticons are in the right here? You're the ones who started the war; all we're trying to do is protect our peaceful way of life," the tactician murmured with a trace of disapproval in his voice as he looked at the other mech.

He moved to counter Onslaught's shifting of supply lines and prepared his own air support to fly overhead when his tunnelers made their move. "I have completed my turn."

Onslaught examined the new field dynamic carefully before moving his heavy artillery to the fore, flanking them with four new Seeker trines. He then used his engineers to take out Prowl's anti-aircraft guns. It was a move that destroyed his own troops, but left Prowl with no alternative but to fight the Seekers in the air or waste moves bringing new guns to the field.

"The field is yours, Prowl," he said as he sat back and examined the Autobot tactician carefully. "I must say that I find it interesting that an intelligent and logical mech such as yourself would buy into the Autobot propaganda machine. You blame us for starting the war, but the truth is it was you Autobots who fired the first shots when we took what was rightfully ours. And I do not think we are in the right. I _know_ we are. We are fighting for the greater good of all the citizens of Cybertron. It comes down to a difference between the individuals or the whole."

He steepled his fingers and leaned forward against the table, speaking as a mentor would to a student. "And as for your peaceful way of life ... I suggest that you talk to the elder members of your forces. Perhaps Kup or Ironhide. Actually, that traitor Smokescreen could tell you the truth about the peaceful way of life you are so valiantly defending."

"It's not propaganda." Prowl frowned, optics brightening with chilly annoyance. "Things were peaceful and then Megatron got his delusions of grandeur and went in and threw off the balance of things. No matter what way you cut it, he had no right to that energon. He _stole_ it and that is morally wrong. So do not preach to me about morals when your faction essentially started out as over-glorified thieves. If anyone is suffering from believing their own propaganda it's you."

"I am not so foolish as to think the Autobots have always been a peace-bearing race. There is no denying that we had to take up arms to overthrow the Overlords but there is a difference between taking up arms to protect yourself and another to do it out of greed and ambition."

Onslaught looked at Prowl and leaned back in his chair, optic band brightening slightly. After a moment of pregnant silence, he threw his head back and laughed. "You genuinely believe this? You honestly believe that you poor innocent Autobots are the victims here? You threw off the shackles of the Overlords and happily donned the Autobot yokes. Are you really so naive as to believe that life was shining and glorious before we evil Decepticons took back our energon?"

"That shine was merely a veneer added atop the rust and the rot. Who do you think kept the Smelting Pools running? Who do you think it was who forced the Neutrals to live in underground hovels? The Autobots are _not_ as innocent as you might like to believe, Prowl. I have no comment regarding this vaunted Prime of yours, but I do know that your previous leaders were just as guilty of delusions as Lord Megatron is. If not more so."

Prowl's optics went hard and icy now, the game thoroughly forgotten. "And how has this war of yours improved things? It's worse than ever. Cybertron is in ruins, everyone lives a miserable life filled with suffering, pain and fear and for what? Because Megatron got greedy? Because he felt he was _entitled_ to something that was never his to begin with?"

Onslaught met Prowl's icy gaze with a level coolness of his own. "Need I remind you, Prowl, that it takes _two_ sides to fight a war? Or had you forgotten just how much damage you Autobots have wrought?" Onslaught asked smugly. "I seem to recall that a fair amount of Cybertron's ruin was caused by your forces. Collateral damage happens in a war. As a tactician you know that better than most, so don't you dare play the injured martyr with me, Prowl."

His gaze darkened and his tone became cold and harsh, as one speaking to a disobeying sparkling. "You Autobots got yourselves in over your heads by getting involved in a matter that didn't concern you. You could have stayed happily in Iacon but you _chose_ to become involved in this. You _chose_ to become entangled in an internal matter that did not concern you. And as a result you are now stuck. Megatron will not back off now. _You_ threw the gauntlet at his feet and are now crying that you didn't know how badly you would lose. Well I can tell you now, Prowl, we Combaticons will not bail you out of this mess. Megatron may kill us for our insubordination, but at least we will die knowing that you Autobots will be put in your place."

The Autobot's optics narrowed fractionally. "And as a tactician, I know better than most that you Decepticons would not and did not stop with just a simple energon shipment. Megatron had an invasion force with him. He wanted conquest, not energon. And the way he gunned down innocent, unarmed civilians told us all how he intended on attaining that conquest."

Prowl frowned and climbed to his feet, doors arched high and pinned back tightly with outrage. "I will not apologize for my faction choosing to make a stand, to not roll over and be executed or assimilated into the Decepticon army. But I believe you're right, there is nothing you have to offer so this interview is over. You and your team will be used to barter the exchange of some captured soldiers. If we're lucky, Megatron will just shoot you in the spark chambers right there on the field. If not, I sincerely pray to Primus that he makes an example out of you and the squad of monsters you pretend to lead."

"And yet through all of your outrage you still fail to address the fact that _you_, not your faction but you in particular, Prowl, have also caused the deaths of countless innocents. We Decepticons may be monsters but at least we accept and embrace what we are instead of hiding behind the thin claim of civility and righteousness. After all, all your protestations of innocence will not bring back the Neutrals of Delta Khalis. That was you battle plan wasn't it?" Onslaught asked, amusement threading its way through his words.

"Mechs die in war; innocent mechs, sparklings and those who you've never set optics on. I know that, accept that and I live with it every day. The difference between you and I is that when I make up my plans, it's to protect as many lives as I can. You just try and destroy and wreck as much as you can, Onslaught."

"Keep telling yourself that, Prowl. Whatever helps your guilty conscience recharge," Onslaught sneered.

* * *

Up in the command center, Jazz cycled air through his vents and curled his fingers into a fist briefly, the only sign of his anger and inner turmoil at the whole affair. "That coulda gone better. Give it up, gentlemechs, we ain't gonna get anything out of these slaggers."

At Jazz's pronouncement, Smokescreen casually walked toward the door.

Jazz glanced over at Smokescreen when he started to head out. "Where ya headed, Smokey?"

"Me?" Smokescreen asked innocently. "I'm leaving. After all, you said we were done here and I have other work to do."

He continued to make for the exit. Red Alert, however, beat him to the punch and locked the door remotely.

"Thanks, Red. Appreciate it," the diversionary strategist grumbled.

"Of course," Red Alert replied casually as an amused smile started to pull at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

Prowl seemed to consider something for a moment before he turned back to the Combaticon. In one swift movement, he yanked the mech close by the chains shackling him to the table and socked him across the jaw with one balled up fist. "And before you start to congratulate yourself for getting a rise out of me, I did that because you deserved to be reminded of what pain and consequences are, not because you made me angry.

Onslaught's head snapped to the side as his battle mask was knocked off with the force of the blow. Then, with the sudden movements of a true hunter he yanked Prowl close with his own chains and crushed the tactician's mouth with his own.

"It's a pity you chose the wrong side, Prowlie. You'd've made an incredible Decepticon," he whispered harshly as a feral grin pulled at his lips.

Prowl hadn't been expecting _that_ and Onslaught caught him completely unawares with his sudden, violent kiss.

Rage bubbled up with him and when the Combaticon released him, Prowl punched him again before dropping the chains and shoving the Decepticon back. "You spawn of a glitch," the tactician snarled before he unspaced his rifle and fired at the Decepticon.

Onslaught's roar at the acid pellets turned into a dark laugh as he pulled himself off the ground.

"Beating on prisoners of war? Where are your vaunted ideals now, Prowl?" Onslaught asked of Prowl's retreating back as the tactician stormed out. "For all your talk you are just as bad as the monsters you claim we a-ARGH!"

"Frag me!" Jazz had turned his attention back to the monitors in time to see Onslaught kiss Prowl and the Autobot turn around and shoot the Combaticon. "Prowl! Stand the frag down. What the slag is wrong with you!? Red, get him outta there, _now_!"

Onslaught screamed as ten thousand volts of electricity filled the room, fritzing out his systems and sending him back to the ground.

"That I just did because you pissed me off. Congratulations you slagger." Prowl snarled over his shoulder as he stalked out. Onslaught's roar of pain echoed down the halls behind him but the tactician didn't even bother stopping to investigate.

* * *

"Whoah ... didn't see that coming ...," Smokescreen whispered as he moved back to the center of the room to observe the scene. Shaking his head to clear it, he turned to Jazz. "Well, as you said, this is a total bust. If we can't turn Onslaught you _know_ none of the rest are going to turn. I mean, Vortex already said, Onslaught is the decision maker here. So can I go? Please?" Smokescreen looked at Jazz, a plea written in his optics and in his tone.

"Oh no you don't. Yer gonna go talk to Swindle. I gotta go figure out what the _frag_ crawled up Prowl's tailpipe and yer the only one here who I know can stand on even ground with that oil-stain."

Smokescreen's optics narrowed in a flash of anger then he quickly schooled his features.

"Fine," he grumbled as he headed toward the other door. "But I'm doing this under protest."

Without another word, he stalked out of the room. As soon as the door shut, Red Alert turned to Jazz.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to send him?" he asked. "Considering his temperament and history, was he really the best of choices to put in a room with Swindle of all mechs?"


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Thanks to okami_myrrhibis for betaing

* * *

Smokescreen was not happy with facing Swindle. There was nothing but bad energon between them and this little attempt at converting the Combaticons to the Autobot side wouldn't help any. While Swindle was opportunistic and self-serving, he was also stubborn and vengeful, especially toward those who had personally wronged him. Smokescreen had argued this to Jazz, explained that he was the last mech Swindle would ever speak with, and yet, the Special Ops captain hadn't backed down.

He approached the door cautiously, then cleared his vents softly and steeled himself before walking in purposefully. No longer was he Smokescreen the smuggler, thief, and con artist. He was Smokescreen the Autobot. Hopefully Swindle bought the con.

"Swindle. The Autobots have an offer for you. Are you willing to listen?" he asked as he sat in the chair opposite his former partner.

Unlike the other members of his team, Swindle had not raged or fought against the restraints chaining him down. He's sat there patiently waiting to see just who the Autobots would send in to negotiate with him. A good businessmech never let impatience show or give away emotional responses in an uncertain situation.

Despite his ability to compartmentalize and appear unconcerned, Swindle was not prepared for the burn of emotion that flared through him when Smokescreen of all mechs walked in the door. Hatred, anger, outrage; those were easy enough to identify. The other confusing tangle of emotions was harder to label and Swindle shoved it down as far as it would go as he regarded his former partner with inscrutable optics.

"I can't believe they'd send you of all mechs to talk to me, Smokey. But hey, it's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon so let's hear your...offer." The small Decepticon's lips curled up into a smile that never reached his optics as he lounged there in his chair, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned. The predatory gleam in his optics and the way they never left Smokescreen was the only indication that the Combaticon was poised and ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

Smokescreen's doorwings remained high and relaxed behind him. Unlike others of his body type, he betrayed no emotion with them, but his cooling fans did slow almost imperceptibly at the look Swindle gave him. As good as he was he wasn't fully prepared for this. He doubted he ever would be.

"You know the drill in these situations Swindle. You have information that we are willing to buy from you. Intel on Megatron and Decepticon movements and in return we give you a place here. Or at least we agree to keep you safe from Megatron and the bounty hunters he's got looking for you," Smokescreen replied, all business. "Last I checked, he was offering ten thousand credits for you and your team. More if you're brought in alive. You know that with those prices, you're future is looking pretty bleak."

The Autobot sat back in his chair and folded his hands on the table casually.

"Only ten thousand? How insulting," Swindle scoffed and steepled his fingers across the top of the table as he continued to stare at the Autobot.

"Yes well, I'm sure he would have offered more but your pal Brawl probably brought down the pot," Smokescreen replied, his voice as flat as if he was speaking with a stranger about something totally inconsequential. "As for why me, I guess I've just always been lucky that way."

."Why did they send you, Smokescreen?" he asked quietly, optics a dark amethyst color. "I'm surprised they sent you of all mechs. Don't they know about our past? They're not afraid I'm going to try and tempt you away are they?"

Smokescreen's folded hands tightened fractionally and his optics darkened to deep cobalt in response to Swindle's question.

"And yes. They know we were connected. Send a thief to catch a thief is the reasoning I suppose." He paused for a moment and looked away, slightly in the direction of the camera. When he looked back his optics were hard. "And as for being tempted, might I point out that I'm the one with the offer, and given the present situation, you don't exactly have a lot to tempt me with.

"That's not what you used to say, Smokey," Swindle sneered with a taunting look in his optics. "Tell me, do your new friends know all about your past? How you used to be no better than me? A thief, a liar? You can take the mech out of the slums but you can't take the slums out of the mech." All pretenses at being civil dropped away as the Combaticon gave Smokescreen a hateful, venomous look. "Of course, you always were good at whoring yourself out to the highest bidder. Tell me, how's life in the Autobots treating you? Do you feel morally vindicated? Or are you still the small-time petty crook who'd sell out his own creator for the right price? I'll bet they don't even know what kind of monster they have lurking in their ranks. How vile you truly are."

Smokescreen's optics narrowed dangerously and his jaw bunched. For a moment it looked like he was going to launch himself across the table at Swindle, but instead he just stood forcefully, knocking the chair away.

"I have better things to do than this," he grumbled as he moved to the door.

"Oh yes, leave, please. You're _so_ I good at doing that," Swindle snarled sullenly, kicking back in his chair as he glowered at Smokescreen's back.

_'Don't even think about it!'_ Red Alert cautioned over a private comms channel. _'I've locked the door and I'm not letting you out until you're done in there.'_

Smokescreen turned and glared at the camera. _'You Primus-damned spawn of a glitch! You have no right!'_

_'I have every right,'_ Red Alert replied calmly._ 'Now get back to work.'_

_'I hate you,'_ Smokescreen growled.

_'I think I'll survive,'_ Red replied dryly before closing the channel down again.

Smokescreen growled softly before reaching up and disabling the camera quickly, completely ignorant of the secondary camera that came online as he did so. Once that was completed, he picked up his chair and sat back down across from Swindle.

The Comabticon watched with dark, rebellious optics as the tactician paused at the door but didn't leave. This caused a strange stir of emotions in his spark and the Decepticon grit his dental plates with a growl.

"Look, the deal is simple," Smokescreen said in a cold and dismissive tone. "You and your team spill and survive to see another cycle or we hand your worthless hulls to Megatron. It's real simple, Swindle. Take it or leave it."

"Heh, if you think I'm going to believe a word coming out of yer vocalizer, you've got another think coming, Smokey. You betrayed us already, why the frag should I or any of my team believe you?"

"Betrayed you? _I_ betrayed _you_? Only you would view the refusal to follow a megalomaniac as a betrayal. Things were fine until those glitches came into our life! And now you're happily killing Neutrals - our old colleagues! - and for what? So that Megatron can rule?" Smokescreen spoke with an angry and impassioned fervor before finally calming down. He cleared his vents loudly and when he spoke again he was calmer. "And besides, no matter how much you'd like to believe this is about you and me, it isn't. This is about a greater good. That mech you're following is a maniac. You all know it, otherwise why would you have tried to overthrow him?"

"You abandoned us!" Swindle shouted suddenly, jumping to his feet with a clatter of chains and overturned chair. "You abandoned **me**, Smokescreen! So go frag yourself, you spawn of a glitch. I want nothing to do with your self-righteous platitudes or attempts to make yourself feel better about what you did in the past! Bad energon tells, you slagger, and no matter how perfect a little Autobot you try and be, you and I both know you're still waiting for the perfect opportunity, that golden moment to stab them in the back so you can crawl over their bodies and move onto your next mark. Megatron might be a slagger but he's an honest slagger. He doesn't try and justify his actions with false words or lie about his intentions and dress it up to make himself look better."

Smokescreen's optics hardened and he clenched his fists as he stood slowly to face Swindle. "How dare you?" he asked in a low growl. "Why don't you look in a mirror before you accuse me of stabbing anyone in the back! You have no idea why I left! You have no idea what it took for me to make that decision!" At this point Smokescreen was practically yelling. Suddenly, he turned and slammed one hand against the wall and started to shiver as emotions started to take over.

"I never claimed or pretended to be something I'm not," Swindle declared frostily. He watched with a bitter look on his face as Smokescreen railed against him before finally punching the wall in a fit of anger. "It couldn't have been that hard, you just slagging left," came that petty reminder.

Smokescreen never turned and when he spoke again, his voice was softer than before, but no less full of emotion. "Don't you get it? If the Autobots don't get what they want they are going to turn you over to Megatron. No matter what happened between us in the past, no matter how fragging angry you can still make me ... Swindle, he is going to kill you! We're offering you a chance here! Take it and run if you want. Pit! I can get you off world if that's what you want ... just ... Swindle, please ..." In a rare show of true emotion, Smokescreen's doorwings drooped in defeat.

"So we should sell ourselves to the Autobot way, shake off the shackles of Decepticon rule only to walk into a different kind of shackle? One where you ask us to deny what's in our very nature? You'll never accept us in your ranks, Smokey. They're going to throw us in a dark hole and forget about us, which is exactly what Megatron will do if he doesn't outright kill us. I'd rather be executed than be locked up like a turbo-rat."

"I finally embrace my true nature and I'm a traitor. I finally do what I _know_ is right and I'm a monster." Smokescreen shook his head. He slowly walked up to Swindle, far closer than would have been safe. He willingly and knowingly put himself within arms reach. "I can't help you if you don't pay them something," he said in a soft voice. "I'm not asking you to become an Autobot. I can get you off world and safe. Be a Neutral. Do whatever it is you want. Just ... are you really so angry at me that you'd chose death or an eternity in a cell just to hold onto your anger?"

Swindle watched him warily, that small frame tensing and coiling in preparation for action as he glared at the other mech. He waited until Smokescreen was close enough to touch and looked down, seemingly defeated and overwhelmed by the situation. "You can't ask me to trust you again, Smokey. Not after what you did before. I couldn't handle a betrayal like that, not again," he whispered, voice small and trembling with repressed emotion.

"I ... Swindle I know I can't ..." Smokescreen trailed off. When he spoke again his voice was dead, his optics flat. "Fine, Swindle. I've done too much to be trusted again. Fine. I understand. I hope I'm wrong about this and you live a good long time and get to appreciate your choice."

He looked to the side slightly as he opened a comm channel to the command room. _'I've done what I can, Jazz. He's not buying. Tell Red to let me the slag out of here.'_

The Combaticon waited until Smokescreen had turned his attention away before springing into action. The energon cuffs fell away, their power source disrupted by the device he had built into his chassis. Swindle leapt at Smokescreen, pushing him to the ground, deliberately trying to smash those delicate and sensitive doors so as to throw the larger mech off balance.

Smokescreen was obviously losing his touch because he never saw Swindle's move until it was too late to get out of the way. He hit the ground hard under the weight of the smaller bot and he cried out in agony as his doors were pinned under him - one at a very wrong angle.

"Get off me you fragger!" Smokescreen roared as he pushed Swindle away with one hand. His other withdrew back in his arm and was replaced by a nozzle that immediately spewed black acrid smoke into Swindle's face.

The Combaticon just snarled and punched him square in the face. Smokescreen's magnetized smoke would have probably been more effective against another mech if Swindle wasn't intimately familiar with the Autobot's weaponry and didn't cart around something very similar himself. His own gyro-gun did the same general thing and the Combaticon could fight through the disorientation and his feral need to escape lent him the extra incentive he needed to get the job done!

Smokescreen's head snapped back with the punch and cracked hard against the floor. He quickly brought his hand back and grabbed at Swindle's face and neck, desperately trying to get the smaller mech off of him. Unfortunately, Swindle had always been stronger and he was even more so now, fueled as he was by desperation.

"Swin! Let me go!" Smokescreen screamed and in a last ditch effort to break free he kicked up at the Combaticon, trying to reverse their positions.

Up in the control room, Red Alert watched the interrogation in silence, but the moment Swindle made his move, Red Alert sprang into action.

"I told them this was a bad idea," he muttered. "See this is why you can't trust a Decepticon."

Without even thinking of the consequences to Smokescreen, Red Alert flooded the interrogation room with electricity.

Swindle just snarled and clawed at Smokescreen mindlessly, desperate to overpower him, to gain some semblance of the upper hand. Then Red Alert filled the room with electricity and the Combaticon screamed. His body arched upwards as the electricity flowed and sparked through them, temporarily shorting out motor functions and crashing systems until his CPU was forced to reboot in order to protect itself from data-loss. Swindle collapsed on top of the Autobot, smoke rising from his joins as his optics dimmed.

Smokescreen, pinned to the floor as he was, got the full dose of electricity. His scream was cut short as his vocalizer crackled with static and his body shook and writhed under Swindle. When he finally lay still, his armour cracked and popped with the heat and stray electricity.

Just as his systems were rebooting the door to the cell slammed open and several members of Red Alert's security team swarmed in, securing the room and pulling Swindle off Smokescreen's prone form.

"....had to try...." Swindle groaned in Smokescreen's audio just as he was pulled off. The small Combaticon was in no state to fight back and he was yanked away like a sack of useless old parts. His chassis creaked and continued to smoke as he lay there mostly senseless in the arms of Red Alert's security forces.

"I know," Smokescreen tried to whisper back, but all his vocalizer would produce was static.

Red Alert strode into the room and shot Swindle a filthy look before moving to Smokescreen's side.

"Get that piece of slag out of here and this time, chain him up properly. I don't want him moving a micron, understand?"

"Yes, sir!" the guards answered in unison before pulling Swindle from the room.

Swindle just groaned, his head lolling weakly to the side as they carted him off.

* * *

"Prowl!" Jazz called, chasing after the tactician as they hurried through the base away from the prison block."Wait up! Hey, Prowl!"

"What is it, Jazz?" Prowl never stopped walking toward the commissary. He was still fuming at Onslaught's words and actions. And worse still, he was furious at his own reaction to the whole thing. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Jazz, but still, he managed to keep his tone civil, if clipped.

Jazz increased his pace to catch up with the angry tactician. "Ya can't just lay a mech out like that and try and play it off like yer okay. I'm worried is all. And seein' as how I've seen ya really loose yer temper all o' maybe five times in all the vorns I've known ya, I think I got reason to be worried."

"I'm fine. What you saw was a calculated tactical response to an illogical reaction. Unfortunately, however, we won't be getting anything from Onslaught," Prowl replied, slowing his pace slightly as the saboteur came up beside him. "What about the others? Did they make any headway with the rest of the Combaticons?"

Jazz just stared at him unimpressed. "That's just fancy talk for saying 'I got angry and lost my temper because some creepy 'con put his hands on me', Prowl."

The saboteur sagged slightly at mention of the Combaticons. "I don't know, Smokey is trying to talk to Swindle right now. I.....I dunno." Guilt weighed heavily on Jazz's shoulders. These were _his_ troops but the logical part of him told Jazz the Combaticons might prove more useful outside of Megatron's hands.

"I didn't lose my temper," Prowl sniffed, sounding more than a little offended. "That would be a completely illogical response to him molesting me." These last few words were practically growled and his hands clenched angrily.

"No it wouldn't, he touched you, forced himself on you so you've every right to be angry."

Suddenly Prowl lost his temper again and he spun on Jazz. "What precisely was he hoping to accomplish in there?!"

"He was probly doing it just to get a rise outta you. To throw ya off-balance just to see you squirm like you are right now." Jazz didn't even jump when Prowl turned on him suddenly in a fit of anger.

"Making me squirm doesn't accomplish anything for himself or his team. It was a dirty move all around," Prowl replied harshly.

"Yes it was but that's how psychological warfare works, Prowl. Now he's gotcha all upset and tied into knots over something as simple as a kiss. 'Cons fight dirty, we both know that. 'Specially one of their primary tacticians."

The tactician cleared his vents forcefully then calmed, and suddenly it was as if nothing was wrong. "It was an illogical response on both of our parts. I shouldn't have let his words and accusations to bother me." He continued to walk toward the commissary. "I take it that since you've sent Smokescreen in to speak with Swindle that things didn't go well with the other interviews. And I'm also assuming that I can expect an official complaint from Red Alert?"

"And I'm sure Red'll find something to whine about," Jazz muttered, still following Prowl through the halls. "We're gonna go through with the trade then?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't we? Even if Swindle were to provide us with something worthwhile it wouldn't supersede the safety of your mechs," Prowl replied. "Besides, what would we do with them if we didn't make the trade? Do you really think that a monster like Vortex would fit into the Autobot structure? We don't have the time or means to keep them incarcerated and we both know that Megatron _will_ execute them for their crimes. Can you honestly say that they deserve anything less?"

"I know, and....honestly, I'd rather see 'em dead and have my mechs back." Jazz broke off when Red Alert contacted him via comms.

_'Jazz, you're needed in Cell Five. There's been another incident.'_

_'....frag. What happened, Red?'_ Jazz asked unhappily as he turned and headed off in the direction of the cells.

_'Smokescreen let Swindle grab him **and** he failed to inform us that the piece of slag Decepticon could get out of the restraints!'_

"Frag it all," Jazz snarled under his breath.

_'Just get down here, Jazz. I need someone in charge to watch over this idiot while I make sure that Swindle is properly secured. I do not trust him, Jazz. It was a mistake bringing him into this considering his history. We have absolutely no reason to trust Smokescreen at all!'_

_'That ain't yer call to make, Red! Just do yer job and I'll do mine.'_

_'Fine, it's your call. But I am officially going on record as disapproving of his presence here.'_ Red Alert replied acerbically before closing the line.

_ 'Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know.'_ Jazz replied with a hint of sarcasm before the line closed.

"Prowl, go keep Red Alert in check would you? I'm going to go see to Smokey." It wasn't often the Spec Ops commander got irritated but this was certainly one of those times. Jazz stalked back into the prison block.

* * *

"Slag, what happened, Smokey?" Jazz asked when he reached the cell. The saboteur knelt down next to the tactician, checking him over carefully.

Smokescreen smiled wanly at Jazz's question. "I made a bit of a tactical error. I got too close. To show trust, you know? I had no idea that he could get out of his bonds like that and next thing I know, he's got me pinned," Smokescreen replied with a groan as he tried to stand up. "Aw frag, I think he broke my door hinge!" Thrown off balance and still weak from the jolt, Smokescreen slid back to the floor.

"That was not your most bright shining moment, that's fer certain." Jazz teased and moved to help Smokescreen sit up. "Come on, you need to see the medics. It's obvious we ain't gonna get anything out of this bunch, not with the timeframe we've got hanging over our heads."

"No, we're not," Smokescreen replied as he accepted the help to stand up. "Look, Jazz, I know you know what you're doing, and I know that they're your crew ... but is this really the best way to go? I mean, handing hi- _them_ over like this, it just doesn't seem right. Isn't there a better way to go about doing it?"

Jazz did not miss that slip and his optics sharpened slightly as he looked at Smokescreen. "Smokey.....they're the _enemy_. You're fragging right I'll trade them if it means a chance of getting my troops back. I know you and this crew had a history and all but they're stone-cold murderers and you can't afford to loose sight of that. **I** can't afford to have you loose sight of that."

"I ... right ... sorry, Jazz," Smokescreen replied softly. "They're the enemy and they've chosen this. I know that."

A sympathizing look appeared on Jazz's faceplates and he laid a gentle hand on Smokescreen's shoulder armor. "We've all lost friends and comrades to this war. Deactivating is one thing but when you see 'em turn 'con it's even harder."

Smokescreen felt a cold, dull ache wash through his spark, but he steeled himself through it. He'd offered a way out and it had been thrown back in his face. This was how it had to be and he had to accept that.

"When's the transfer? I should see a medic, but I should probably be there for the transfer. Just in case."

The saboteur cycled air through his vents and eyed the other mech. "Are you sure that's such a good idea, Smokey?"

"It probably isn't, but Megatron's likely going to be there and you're going to need as much backup as possible," Smokescreen said firmly. "I can do this and I won't let you down. Regardless of what some mechs might like to think," he added in a dark and brooding grumble.

"Just let me know when and where and I'll be there. No matter what."

"Well you're not going anywhere until we get that door looked at." Jazz chastised and helped Smokescreen to his feet.

"I'll get the door removed if they can't fix it in time. I can handle being a door short if it means I'm there with you."

Jazz sniffed suspiciously, a flicker of outrage flashing across his features. "Smells like melted wiring.....what happened?"

"Swindle attacked me and rather than letting me deal with it, Red decided to set off the security system. I was lying flat on my back at the time and got a full charge," Smokescreen replied irritably. Suddenly, his body betrayed him and he lost his balance. As he tilted precariously his arms shot out to the sides in an attempt to stave off a fall.

"Spawnuvaglitch!" Jazz snarled, outrage turning to anger as he stumbled under Smokescreen's weight. "He won't get away with that, Smokey, I promise. Fraggin' cold sparked slaghead. That goes against all policy and he slaggin' well knows it! And you're not going anywhere but to a medic, Smokey."

"I'm. Fine," Smokescreen growled through gritted dental plates. He righted himself and pulled away from Jazz. "I can get to the med bay on my own. You just deal with the final preparations."

Without waiting for confirmation he started to slowly walk out of the room, each step taken gingerly.

"I'll come check on you after I'm through with Red." Jazz murmured with a grim look before turning and walking in search of the security director.

* * *

Smokescreen made his way toward the med bay for just as long as it took to confirm that Jazz was no longer around. Then, after finding Swindle's new location, he turned and headed directly to the cell. It was a simple matter to get the guards to let him in, but as soon as he entered the cell, he froze, suddenly completely unsure as to why he was here.

Swindle was physically chained against the wall, the chains pulled taut to keep him from moving hand or foot. It was more like how you would chain up an animal than a sentient Cybertronian. He looked up when Smokescreen walked in, lips compressing into a thin slash before he looked away with a frown.

"Swindle ... I need to talk to you," Smokescreen said in a soft voice as soon as he collected himself.

"Heh, well, I think you've found the perfect opportunity to 'talk' to me. Ain't like I'm going to be going anywhere for a while." The tan and purple mech muttered with a trace of petulance.

Smokescreen took an unsteady step forward, his broken doorwing shivering uselessly behind him. "You know what's coming as well as I do. You're going to be handed over to Megatron and he won't be forgiving. If you could just even _pretend_ to cooperate I could do something to get you out of this-" He broke off as his vocalizer shorted out, filled with a sudden burst of static.

"......it would never work, Smokey. Megatron can reach us even in here if he chose to. When we were off the grid, we stood a chance, now....we're just living on borrowed time."

"We can keep you safe. We can get you out of this if yo-" Again his vocalizer shorted out and he shook his head irritably. "Why in Primus' name are you following that maniac? I mean, I can see Ons buying all that crap about a better world through forced unity, but you? This was never your bag. You and I both know that we'll have more freedom to move under the Autobots than you'll ever see under the Cons."

He slowly approached the bound Combaticon, arms hanging limply at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if itching to touch, stroke, and grab.

A small, fatalistic smile crossed Swindle's faceplates. "They don't ask me to be something I'm not, Smokey. I don't have to hide who and what I am. These Autobots expect you to play by their rules, expect you to conform to their standards and to live a lie. How is that freedom? The Decepticons might be harsher in their expectations but at leas their honest."

"I'm not hiding who I am," Smokescreen replied, but there was no conviction in the dull, grey voice.

"Yes you are. Because if you weren't, you wouldn't be sneaking in to see an old lover looking all guilt-ridden and sorry. This ain't you, Smokey and one day you're going to realize that." Swindle whispered, voice defeated as well.

"Fine, you've made up your mind. And I know you well enough to know that when you've set to a course, even Primus himself couldn't drag you off it. You always were a stubborn glitch." There was no recrimination in Smokescreen's words. Just defeat. "This wasn't how I wanted it to end, Swindle. Just so you know that."

He closed the space between them and reached out as if to stroke Swindle's cheek, but stopped mid-motion. "I just wish I could convince you that there's another way."

Swindle sat there, watching Smokescreen warily as he reached out as if to touch him. Perhaps most telling of all, he didn't try and pull away or attack him this time. Smokescreen's optics dimmed and his working doorwing drooped in defeat. Finally, he completed the move and stroked Swindle's cheek gently. Swindle shuddered and leaned into the touch, his own optics dimming slightly with shared pain.

"I'm so sorry, Swin. I wish I was ... stronger ..." he whispered before leaning in and kissing his former lover gently and with a bitter sorrow.

"....I know, Smokey." He whispered softly as he leaned into the kiss with matching bittersweet longing. Chains rattled as he tried to shift but found himself drawn up short. The Decepticon tried to drag it out as long as possible.

Smokescreen broke of the kiss and stepped away, optics filled with pain. Without another word he turned and left the room before he broke down completely.


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Thanks to okami_myrrhibis for betaing

* * *

Thoroughly steamed and outraged, Jazz stormed into the monitoring center and barreled right up to Red Alert. The normally cheerful saboteur looked angry enough to kill and that anger was centered right on the security officer.

"What the slag is wrong with you, huh!?" he demanded, pinning Red Alert against the wall.

Red Alert could only let out a startled squeak as he hit the wall. He pressed his hands to Jazz's chest pushing the saboteur away. "I don't know what you're talking about Jazz!" he protested angrily. "This is highly unacceptable! Step back!"

"No, what I find fragging unacceptable is you deliberately harming another Autobot! What the slag were you thinking!? You could have seriously injured or even deactivated him you glitch!"

"Ah. This is about Smokescreen," Red Alert replied with a bit of a sneer. "I will have you know that my actions were appropriate given the severity of the incursion. I calculated the possible risks and found them to be acceptable. Now let me go, Jazz. You may be in command of this operation but that does not give you the right to manhandle me!"

Jazz just snarled and lifted Red Alert off his feet. "That's another Autobot you're talking about, Red Alert! I should have you thrown in the fragging brig for this." His visor flashed. "Actually, that's exactly what I'm going to do."

_''Raj! I want you to watch the monitors, Red and I got a date with the brig,'_ Jazz ordered across a private comm line as he marched Red Alert toward the brig.

Understandably a little confused, Mirage paused. _'Errr.....will do, sir'_

"Oh that's it! Paint him to be the victim!" Red Alert yelled as he struggled against Jazz's grip. "And I suppose that he _failed_ to tell you that he disabled the camera _and_ that he filled the room with smoke during the attack? For all you know this is all part of some elaborate plan! I demand to speak with Prowl on this! You have no right to throw me in the brig for doing my duty to keep this base secure! Let me go, Jazz!"

"Well considerin' he's not the 'bot who's carelessly and sparklessly put another Autobot in danger today, I think I'll refrain from makin' any decisions about what happened. You broke the rules, Red. It was a _Decepticon_ thing to do, not an Autobot way of handlin' the situation. And trust me, we're gonna go see Prowl alright so move yer aft," Jazz snapped as he frog marched the security director down the halls.

"_Excuse me?!_ So I was just supposed to sit back and let Smokescreen help that Decepticon escape? Because you _know_ that was how it was going to turn out! And don't tell me he wasn't planning something because he was! Otherwise he wouldn't have turned off the camera!" Red Alert said in a clipped and harsh voice as he gave in and allowed himself to be marched along.

"Red, they're in a locked-down prison facility, how far do you _really_ think they woulda gotten, huh?" Jazz grumbled. "You don't know what Smokey was planning but considerin' their history, he prolly didn't want you spying in on all the nasty things old lovers say to one another. Swindle's a real piece of work so I'm sure he was a real fragger 'bout things too."

"I don't know how far they would have gotten but I wasn't about to find out," Red Alert snapped.

The Security Director entered the cell under his own power and glared back at Jazz.

"The fact that they have a history is more than enough reason to not trust him with this. You continue to defend him and yet you have absolutely no reason to trust him at all. Not in this situation. But, since you are obviously incapable of being impartial, I will take my complaints directly to Prowl."

Jazz gave him an annoyed look. "Red, do you really think I don't know that? I deal with double-agents and split loyalties a lot more than you do. Smokey's under surveillance even as we speak. Now shut up and let me get back to work. Jus' cool yer heels and let me work."

"Fine," Red Alert spat out petulantly as he sat on the edge of the cell's metal berth and crossed his arms over his chest.

* * *

Smokescreen was supposed to be going to the med bay to get his door fixed but he couldn't go without one last look. With the skill born or ages of work on the wrong side of society, he slipped past various guards and troops until his came to the main doors where the Combaticons were being herded into a transport. Vortex, Onslaught and Blast Off moved with an easily and unconcerned confidence. Brawl railed and fought against his captors until he had to be sedated. But Swindle was examining the scene taking in every last detail. He spotted Smokescreen and for an instant purple optics met with blue.

The look that Swindle shot him made Smokescreen's fuel turn to ice and his spark stop pulsing. This was it. The end. Swindle knew there was no getting out of this and Smkescreen knew he was never going to see his former lover again. He felt something inside of him start to crack. Heedless of the surrounding Autobots, he took a step forward. He never said anything, never moved beyond that step, but he tried to put all of his apology into his optics, into that final look at Swindle. In response, Swindle managed a faintly mocking, ironic little smile before he was herded off into the shuttle and out of sight.

An orn later the Autobots returned battered, wounded and carrying the deactivated chassis of the twelve Spec Ops agents they'd gone out to rescue. Megatron had delivered them as promised and they'd all lived for about a quarter of a breem until the exchange was complete before the bombs Megatron had installed around their spark chambers went off all at once.

They'd lost most of their crew in that mission. The only reason Mirage and Jazz had made it out of the ambush had been quick thinking on Mirage's part when he'd grabbed onto his offline commander, pulled him close and used his electro-disruptor to try and hide them as much as possible amongst the wreckage of the transport.

It was not a good day for Special Ops and when Mirage helped Jazz limp into the medical bay, the look he sent Smokescreen was absolutely venomous and filled with icy hate.

Smokescreen's optics widened and his hands clenched into fists at that look and the state of Jazz and Mirage. He pulled away from the medic who was finishing up with the repairs on his door and approached the spy and saboteur carefully.

"Primus!" he whispered in a voice that managed to sound both shocked and dead with defeat. "... the plan failed didn't it? He duped us didn't he?"

"That would depend on your definition of 'failed' now wouldn't it?" Mirage hissed, venom and disgust dripping from his tone. "Too bad your little love-mech failed to mention we'd be walking into a slagging trap. Or maybe you two planned it from the start, huh?"

"...'Raj," Jazz groaned weakly in protest, clutching at the spy with his one remaining energon splattered hand. "Don't...." The saboteur was too out of it to protest strongly and he finally ended up slipping back into stasis lock before the medics could even ease him down onto a berth.

"What?" Smokescreen growled in a dangerous tone and he closed on the spy. "What did you just say? Because I'm pretty sure I misunderstood you."

"I said it was _very_ convenient that you just **happened** to be injured by a bound mech who was your ex-lover. The same mech whom you ended up 'secretly' visiting and _kissed_ even after the fight. And since you were slated to go on that mission too, you being knocked out no doubt saved your aft," Mirage snarled, a deathly pale and not quite sane light in his optics.

"I was injured by Red Alert when he flooded the room with electricity! Or is he also involved in this little plot of yours?" Smokescreen spat out. "And if this was a plot on my part, do you really think that I would have allowed Swindle to go to his death? Because I'm pretty sure that Megatron was smart enough to ambush the lot of you _after_ you handed over the Combaticons to him."

"A psychologist like you would know how Red Alert operates, how all of us operate, and could have planned accordingly."

"A blind cyber-dodo would have known that all this was a set up! It was a slagging bait and switch, for Primus' sake!"

"And who's to say the Combaticons are going to their death? This whole thing could be one large ruse to totally wipe out our entire Special Ops corps. And you know what? They slagging **succeeded!**"

"Of course they're going to die! Megatron doesn't forgive traitors!" Smokescreen yelled, voice breaking with emotion. Smokescreen closed the distance between himself and Mirage, invading the spy's personal space and bullying him with his larger bulk.

When Smokescreeen approached, something snapped inside Mirage's optics, that barely leashed hatred lunged free and he had his rifle out and firing at Smokescreen within the flicker of an optic. The tactician should have known better than to press a mech who'd gone through such a traumatic experience but on some level, this had all been planned. When Mirage fired on him, Smokescreen made absolutely no attempt to block or dodge. He just took the shot, hoping on some level that it would hit home. Agony exploded through his torso but unfortunately, the shot was knocked off course when one of the medics tackled Mirage.

"No!" the medic shouted, pinning the distraught mech down. Mirage's rifle went clattering across the ground and the med-bay was suddenly swarming with activity as medics tried to subdue the struggling and shouting Mirage.

Smokescreen curled into a ball of agony, screaming out it pain that was only partly physical. When the medics succeeded in sedating Mirage and turned back to help Smokescreen it was all he could do to not fight them off.

"Why didn't you just let him do it?" he asked in an agonized whisper.

"It'll be all right," the young medic whispered softly. "We're just going to sedate you while we fix this damage. Just relax."

Smokescreen lay there limply, not fighting the medics, just staring at the far wall listlessly as they started their work.

* * *

Smokescreen came online and found himself lying next to Jazz. The saboteur was still missing a limb though the cut was clean and removed at the joint from where the medics had obviously treated the wound and were fabricating a new arm.

"Hey, Smokey....," Jazz murmured, half slurring the words.

Smokescreen shifted his head slightly and winced as something in his neck protested slightly. "... Where's Mirage?" he asked softly

Jazz looked away, a pained look flashing across his faceplates. "....th' brig. From what I heard, Prowl was fit ta be tied."

Smokescreen snorted indelicately. "Prowl's always fit to be tied," he replied without humor. "And I'm guessing that he wants to see me once the medics give their okay."

"Eh, he can wait. Might do 'em good to learn some patience," Jazz muttered to himself, shifting carefully on the berth.

The tactician returned to staring at the far wall and was silent for a long time. When he spoke again his voice was small and broken.

"... Jazz? How many did we lose?"

".......twenty-seven deactivated including my men. Megs had their spark-chambers wired with explosives. Look....'bout 'Raj. I'm sorry. He wasn't in good shape when we came back. Neither of us were."

"... twenty-seven plus the Combaticons," Smokescreen murmured. "... don't worry about Mirage. I'm guessing that he just did what Red and Prowl are gonna do later. ... it sounds to me like Megatron played us all from the get go. The Combatties all knew it. Every one of them ..."

"....well, I wasn't countin' them or the slagger who sold us out. Ol' Megs did me th' favor of shootin' him before I got the pleasure. But yes, he certainly played us all."

Jazz finally looked back at Smokescreen. "You're an Autobot; Prowl and Red ain't gonna leave ya twisting in the wind. If anything, 'Raj is the one who's lookin' to be locked away or somethin' worse for attempted murder."

"That'd require me pressing charges, which I won't do, Jazz," Smokescreen replied as he looked over at the saboteur. "I may have pushed him ... no, I did push him. And my wearing an Autobrand doesn't make me an Autobot. You and I both know that Red Alert doesn't trust me. And why should he, given my history? No, I trust Prowl to be logical, but the others ... Mirage brought up some points. They weren't good, but in the right minds they were believable and ... You know, Jazz, it might be best if I stayed out of this type of work for a while."

"Bein' an Autobot is more than just wearing the markings, Smokey," Jazz reminded him quietly. "Mechs like us, we've all got things in our past we'd sometimes like to forget. But we can't. They forged us into th' mechs we are today. In my opinion, actions speak louder than words. That traitor was one of the smoothest talkers I've ever met but he was rotten down to the spark." Jazz's visor brightened slightly. "You ain't him, Smokey, and while I wasn't there ta hear what 'Raj said to you, I know how nasty he can be in a mood so I can imagine. And I'm sorry for that. It doesn't reflect well on me as his commander ta have him run off half-cocked like that. But those are just words. Yer actions define you more than anything you or anyone else could possibly say."

"Right. My actions." Smokescreen offlined his optics. "I just hope I don't disappoint you one day ..." This last was whispered and Jazz had to strain to even hear it at all.

"It's kinda hard to disappoint me, Smokey, don't worry about it. As 'Raj would say, I suffer from an overabundance of faith in other mechs."

"Thanks for the faith, Jazz. I appreciate it."

"Think nothin' o' it, Smokey, I know you ain't goin' ta disappoint in the end."

"So what's the plan now, Jazz? We need your team. Now more than ever. Megatron's going to try to slip more spies into our ranks. And he's going to use this whole thing to turn us against each other."

Jazz smiled gently but it faded at mention of his team.

"....dunno. Spec Ops is pretty much wiped out now. I dunno how we're s'posed to recover from this one. It takes so slaggin' long to find and train appropriate mechs."

At the problems the Special Ops unit was facing, Smokescreen merely nodded.

"Well, you still have Mirage. ... And it's been my experience that luck usually shines on you when you when you stop trying for it. You'll get a team back together ..."

Jazz merely nodded, a troubled look crossing his face. "Yeah, I got 'Raj but he's only one mech. And after this whole debacle, I'm not sure Prowl's going to let me keep him. Unstable Spec Ops agents are a bad thing."

"I'll talk to Prowl. He'll let you keep him. After all, I did provoke the whole thing and we both know, I can spin anything," Smokescreen replied. He was finally starting to sound a bit more like himself, though there was still that hint of sorrow there. "As soon as the medics say I can leave, I'll go fix up this mess."

"Maybe. Prowl's got his own mind but I hope so. I can't afford to have to break in another second." Jazz sighed, laying back down on the berth. "Mmmn....okay, Smokey. Gonna recharge myself, m'kay?"

"Yeah, you rest and get better. I'll see what I can do in the meanwhile."

Smokescreen sat up in the berth, ignoring the twinge in his neck and shoulders. It didn't take him long to find a young medic to convince, and within a few moments he was out of the med bay and on his way to talk Mirage out of the brig.

* * *

There was a knock at Smokescreen's door and when the tactician came to answer it, he found a solemn looking Jazz standing there. It had been a few orns and the saboteur had been refitted with a newly fabricated arm and was finally released from med-bay. Normally this would leave him cheerful and happy-go-lucky looking, instead he looked almost...pensive.

"You got a few 'clicks, Smokey?"

"Yeah, of course, Jazz. Come on in." He ushered the saboteur into the room and offered him a chair. "Just ignore the mess. I've been a little, uhm, lax, I guess," he added sheepishly.

The room was a mess, with data pads, picture cubes, and empty energon containers strewn about. It didn't take a special ops agent to see that Smokescreen had gone on a trip down memory lane and a bender at the same time.  
"So, what's up?" he asked as he quickly stowed away a picture of himself standing in front of a fountain with five familiar-looking figures.

"Thanks." Jazz managed to dredge up a weak smile. The Spec Ops agent took in the room instantly, picking up on the smallest detail and storing them away for future memory. It wasn't something he did consciously; it was just how his programming operated. And Jazz did not miss the picture Smokescreen hastily put aside but didn't comment on it.

"Yeah, I understand. It's been a bad coupla days for all o' us. Heh, might just hole up in my quarters for a bit myself." Jazz turned his attention back to Smokescreen and looked at him intently for a moment. "Now, you din' hear this from me but I felt like ya had a right t'know. Jus' got word from a contact o' mine outta Kaon. Turns out Megatron didn't have the 'batties executed after all. They're being locked away in some new 'mind prison' of his. Dunno what that entails yet but 'pparently they're one of the first to be jailed there." He moved as if to pace the room nervously before stopping himself. "I dunno if that helps ease yer mind at all t'know they're not dead but I thought ya had a right t'know. 'Specially considering the way ya stood up fer 'Raj like you did."

"Mind prison?" Smokescreen asked in a small voice as he sat heavily in his chair. "That's ... oh, primus ... that's good news. That they're not deactivated." Smokescreen's tone was broken and flat. This was so much worse than deactivation. Knowing Megatron, this wasn't a standard prison, and knowing the Combaticons, this incarceration would be a torture worse than any other. "Thank you for telling me, Jazz," the tactician said dully, looking up at the saboteur, though he may as well have been looking through him. "I really appreciate knowing."

"You and I both know it ain't a reprieve, Smokey," Jazz reminded him somberly. "S'far as I could get Megatron is making use of the data-crystal technology so at least they won't be suffering physically?" It was a weak attempt at comfort and Jazz knew it.  
"Yeah. It's possibly the worst punishment that monster's yet come up with. You and I both know that physical suffering is minor compared to what this will be like," Smokescreen replied bitterly. "But maybe they're in there and offline. I mean, that's what it's supposed to be like, right?" Smokescreen wasn't doing anything to convince himself at all, but maybe if he said it just right he might be able to con himself into believing it was truth.

Jazz hated being the harbinger of bad news but it was a role he seemed uniquely suited for. "I'm sorry, I know you were...close once."

The other mech stood up and faced Jazz. "I do appreciate knowing. It's not good news, but I suppose it's better than not knowing. Maybe it can be closure or something deeply psychological like that."

"I know but who knows....better alive then dead, ain't it?" Jazz asked quietly as he moved towards the door. "I'll let you be, I'm sure you wanna think things through on yer own."

The saboteur paused then, hand near the button that would open the door. "Look, Smokey, I know I told ya I don' mind you chasin' after 'Raj but I changed my mind. I ain't cool with it."

Smokescreen looked up at Jazz, a flippant response on his lips, but something about the saboteur made him hold back. He knew that look, that stance, and he quickly changed tack. "Sure thing, Jazz. I'll back off." He smiled at the Special Ops Captain in understanding. "Good luck. You'll probably be good for each other." He clapped Jazz on the shoulder amicably.

The saboteur's visor flashed with what could have been amusement or even annoyance but a small smile did slowly creep across his faceplates. "It ain't like that. I just don't think he's ready to deal with a scoundrel like you is all," he teased back. And with that, he pressed the button and slipped out the door. "Catch ya later, Smokey."

* * *

Jazz returned to his quarters with a heavy spark. His talk with Smokescreen hadn't done much to improve his mood or lessen the weight of his already guilty conscience. Logically, he of course understood that he shouldn't feel guilty for what went down between Smokescreen and the Combaticons. The more pragmatic part of his processor told him that Smokescreen had been dancing a dangerous line between treason and friendship.

But in his line of work, he'd seen all sorts of shades of grey and Jazz couldn't find it in his spark to begrudge Smokescreen his final attempt at reconciliation with his former friends, especially Swindle.

"Well, it's done." Jazz commented as soon as the door was shut. "I still think ya shoulda tol' him yerself. After all, yer the one who dug up the info, 'Raj."

"Yeah, I may have 'dug up' the intel, but I am _not_ the person to have told him. I doubt that I can remain civil with that mech," Mirage replied bitterly. "I still don't trust him. And since he's _your_ friend, it only makes sense that you be the one to tell him."

"That's slag, 'Raj. You didn't have to dig up that intel. You did it because you felt like you owed Smokey. Otherwise ya would have sat on it," Jazz pointed out ruthlessly. "No matter which way ya cut it, he saved yer aft. But if you wanna tell yerself it's cuz you don't trust him, that's fine."

"I do not feel that I owe Smokescreen anything," Mirage protested, but it sounded weak in his audios. "This has nothing to do with Smokescreen and all about knowing what happened to the Combaticons. We couldn't run the risk of them still being active without our knowledge."

"'Raj? I'm not an idiot. If that were th' case you woulda fought me when I suggested tellin' Smokey what happened to the 'Batties. Th' fact that ya didn't try an' stop me tells me you wanted him t'know. Ya don' hafta lie to me or yerself about it. It's jus' payin' off a debt of honor if ya will. He did you a solid so you returned th' favor. Nothing wrong with that."

"Believe what you like, Jazz." Mirage shifted in his chair slightly "How did he take it?" he asked, trying to defuse the situation by changing the subject.

The saboteur cycled air through his vents and walked over to a compartment where he kept a stash of high-grade hidden. It wasn't often that Jazz let himself indulge in more than mid-grade. He was too controlled a mech to let himself become careless over something as stupid as high-grade. But today, he found himself craving the blurriness the energon could offer. Without asking, he picked out a cube for Mirage and held it out to his subordinate. The blue mech accepted the cube with an acknowledging nod and took a sip.

"He took it hard but that's to be expected I s'pose. I mean, Megatron isn't known for being 'merciful' so I'm sure that whatever happened to the Combaticons is a fate worse than deactivation and Smokey knows that." He took a sip from his cube and smiled a little bitterly. "I guess we should enjoy this moment while we can. It'll prolly be the last bit of useful intel we can come up with for a while."

"Agreed." Mirage paused and looked at the saboteur, carefully formulating his next question. "So, tell me, when are you planning on getting Special Ops back up and running? As much as we'd like to, we can't afford luxury of a mourning period."

A moody look crossed Jazz's face as he took a sip from his cube. "I dunno. I'm thinking...frag, I dunno what I'm thinking. There's some talk about disbanding us. The time an' resources it takes t'train a Spec Ops agent is a lot. I can see why they wouldn't want to sink more time and effort into this program considering the likelihood of us deactivating." It wasn't like Jazz to have such a self-defeatist attitude but the saboteur had been knocked on his aft and stomped on thoroughly the past deca-cycle. It was enough to rob any mech of his confidence.

Mirage reached out and place a hand on Jazz's arm. "They can't get rid of us, Jazz. We need the intel branch. Primus knows that Megatron's got his own spies working against us. Do you really think that Ironhide and Kup can handle that?"

Jazz tensed fractionally when Mirage's hand touched his arm and the look he sent the spy's way was inscrutable. "I don't see how two mechs could make a difference. And Primus, 'Raj. ... I'm tired of seeing my friends and colleagues die in this war. You. ... if you hadn't hurt that servo in your arm it would have been you stationed with 'Stalker. _You_ would be deactivated right now. I don't think I could live with that. Maybe....maybe it would be best...." He looked away, depression radiating from him in palpable waves.

Mirage pulled back and took another sip of his energon. This depressive attitude of Jazz's, while understandable, was so completely unlike him, it was putting the spy on edge. When he spoke again his tone had a slightly hard edge to it, not cold or dismissive, but quite obviously ill at ease.

"I could have, but I wasn't. I might still. We can't let ourselves freeze up with what _might_ happen. If we do that we may as well give up now and let the Decepticons win."

"I.....I don't know what I would do if I lost you too, 'Raj. I'm...I'm tired. I'm just so tired of it all." Moodily, Jazz looked away and took a huge gulp from his cube and then took another for good measure. Within the span of a few clicks he'd emptied the whole cube and shuddered as the potent energon slammed through his lines.

Mirage watched his commanding officer down the cube but kept his concerns to himself. Jazz was an adult and didn't need a nanny-bot to watch over him. "What if we downsized? A three or four mech cell would be harder to trace. Harder to infiltrate. If we could find a third operative it would be easier than trying to pitch training seventeen new mechs."

Jazz listened to the former noblemech's suggestion and his visor brightened slightly as he considered it. It wasn't a bad suggestion actually and it was mad enough that it might just work.

"I'll talk to Prowl and the higher ups on what you suggested. It might work but it's still gonna be damned hard. And I don't know where we're gonna find a third mech. Pickings are kinda slim right now."

"We'll find someone. There has to be anther mech suited to this sort of work within the ranks somewhere. We just have to keep on the lookout for him," Mirage said. Then his look darkened and his next words were practically swallowed, they were said so low. "And maybe we can use Smokescreen in the meantime. Just until we find someone suitable."

Jazz shot him a surprised look. He'd actually been considering Smokescreen but the spy's dislike for the tactician was so obvious that he hadn't the spark to suggest him. "Smokey? You sure you can work with him, 'Raj?" He asked with an intent look on his faceplates. He set his cube aside and faced Mirage again, carefully looking him over as if trying to discern his thoughts. As always, though, the blue mech was a mystery even to his trained optics.

"Of course I can work with him," Mirage sniffed with disdain. "I _am_ a professional." He took another sip of his energon, before turning back to Jazz, a hard look in his optics. "He's good at what he does, he has contacts that neither of us do, and he knows the underside. _And_ I would much prefer to have him where we can keep an optic on him."

Jazz continued to watch him intently for a moment before nodding quietly. "Fine, we'll talk to him and see what he says."

With a shrug he climbed to his feet with renewed vigor though it might have been the high-grade now jangling through his systems giving him a false-sense of courage and confidence. "Come on, no sense in waiting is there?"

A rakish grin, the first one Mirage had seen out of his captain since this whole fiasco began, pulled at Jazz's lips as they headed toward the door.

~FIN~


End file.
